


Little Talks

by buttcushions



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, stupid fluffy crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1789087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcushions/pseuds/buttcushions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lo.”</p><p>Thor’s voice had broken the silence like a flare. Bright, all-consuming in its flash, leaving behind the stifling night in its wake. He repeated again.</p><p>“Lo.”</p><p>He dug his heels into the mattress, pushing his back into Loki’s sleeping form beside him.</p><p>“Fucking Christ, Thor, what do you want?” Loki hissed, voice rough from disuse, “It’s three in the fucking morning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why exactly I made this. I wanted to try out a new writing style, and the majority took me one day, but it seems I lost some of that tone when I continued the next day. It's all cool, whatever, whatever. Anyhow, hope this makes you happy.
> 
> Edit: Holy shit, thank you Thorkizilla for throwing this sonofabitch on one of your rec lists. You truly know how to make a gal happy

"Lo.”

Thor’s voice had broken the silence like a flare. Bright, all-consuming in its flash, leaving behind the stifling night in its wake. He repeated again.

“Lo.”

He dug his heels into the mattress, pushing his back into Loki’s sleeping form beside him.

“Fucking Christ, Thor, what do you want?” Loki hissed, voice rough from disuse, “It’s three in the fucking morning.”

Loki was an interesting sight when pulled roughly from his sleep: hair mussed up in silky tangles, smelling lightly of the styling product that had been in it the day that had just passed. A ghost of his vain perfectionism. It didn’t dull him, though, Thor was convinced nothing ever could, nothing had the right to. The sky painted silver moonlight in dramatic lines across his angry features, tracing along the contours and dips of his face. He sighed. “You’re staring again.”

“Do you like that?” Thor asked, grinning. Loki rolled his eyes in response. The silence that followed was gentle, warm like a memory. It smelled of petrichor and tasted sweet as rain. Thor sighed easily, “I’ve been thinking, too.”

Loki rolled over onto his side to face Thor. The bed squeaked under his shifting weight just as it had done the year before, and the year before that. “That’s never good.”

The tease rolled from Loki’s lips like second nature, like holding your breath underwater, and it rang honey-sweet in Thor’s ear. “It can’t be as bad as when  _you_  get to thinking,” Thor whispered, tracing his hand down Loki’s ribs, to the valley of his waist and to the sharp edges of his hips. His skin was cool and damp despite the lingering heat of the day that no night sky could dissipate. He picked at a loose string hanging from the waistband of Loki’s boxers, pulling at it in vain attempts in breaking it, “Are you happy here with me?” he said, and the words came out without meter, stumbling over his rare uncertainty.

“What defines happiness?” he asked, shrugging.

A train’s whistle blew somewhere in the distance and if you listened just so, it would sound almost lonely. It reminded Thor of the Polar Express and of men in tan jackets staring out of scratched windows under the sterile, artificial light of the train. It seemed to promise change. Thor thought for a moment, choosing his words like collage pieces, “If you had the chance to do it all over, would you be okay with everything you have here?”

Loki snorted a breath, “Would I redo you?” He sounded lazy, dragging his blunt nails lightly over his bare chest. It wouldn’t even leave marks. Thor stared at him unchanging. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Loki closed his eyes and traced his fingertips blindly on the cool white sheets, weaving treasure maps and pencil sketches. Thor heard the soft, wet parting of Loki’s lips before he spoke, and the sound mesmerized him. “I have lost so much in my life, Thor. A good deal of it was to be where I am,” he leaned forward, kissing Thor’s brow, “Happy, here with you.”

It was true. Loki’s father disowned him when he came out. Thor remembered holding Loki to his chest after the fight under the dented roof of his sedan as the heavy rain drummed on its metal shell. He kissed his bloodied palms as the water brought the Sonora to life around them. He promised then that they would be for each other the only family they needed. They were just as much brothers as they were lovers, friends, enemies, mentors, soul mates. Not an aspect spared for anyone else. Only they were privileged with watching manhood sculpt a strange breed of elegance and strength into their limbs, drawing wisdom into their eyes, as well as an undeniable tiredness incurable by any length of rest. It worried Thor to see it in Loki, though he hardly acknowledged it within himself.

“Do you love me?” Loki asked after some time. Thor had never busied himself with the thought. It was natural as the desert’s sunbaked mud and as the looming silhouettes of lonesome saguaros. He loved Loki as much as he loved their small adobe home, and their white-stoned front yard, and the brilliance of the desert sunsets. The obviousness of it all made him laugh out loud, earning a troubled look from Loki.

He pulled Loki into his chest, burying his nose into the nape of his neck. He smelled of cigarettes, shampoo and dried sweat. He smelled of home. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he muttered, words muffled yet loud in their own way. It was the first time that he had ever said it. Those three words opened up a floodgate and Thor couldn’t help but lust for carving into his flesh how wholly he loved him. The sensation felt like a beautiful eternity.

Thor leaned back so that he could grab gently at Loki’s wrist, bringing it to his eyes so he could study his broken palm in the meager light that filtered in obstructed by the sheer white drape over the window. He kissed the jagged scars from six years passed softly as if any brusqueness would break them

and the moment would be scrapped out forever, the book page irreversibly turned. “What were you thinking before?” Loki asked in a hushed whisper, “Just a minute ago.” His voice drawled lazily over the words, like rivulets of water running down window glass, catching droplets in their irregular paths.

“I thought about how happy I was to exist with you,” he said. Loki laughed at his choice of words, a soft bubbling laugh that almost spilled over his lips. Thor felt him shake against his chest and he pulled him closer. “I had never asked if you liked the way we lived. I took it for granted.” The uncertainty that had marred his voice resurfaced, “We ran away when we were eighteen, you never had much of a choice for anything.”

Loki screwed his brows in mock confusion, “But I love paying off my college debts in the desert.” He softened, “But I truly do.”

Thor involuntarily sucked in a breath of air, like his body was afraid that it couldn’t get enough.

“In fact, if given the chance to do it all over, I would be fine with everything I have here.” Loki cringed at the cliché of it all despite how teasing the words had sounded.

Thor thought that perhaps he would, too.

 


End file.
